Free The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez Page A

flight into freedom had only begun to prepare her.
    â€œYes,” the Girl whispered.
    Gilda opened her eyes, and the Girl felt herself drawn into the flowing energy. Her arms and legs became weak. She heard a soft humming that sounded like her mother. She couldn’t look away from Gilda’s gaze which held her motionless. Yet she felt free and would have laughed if she had had the strength to open her mouth. She sensed rather than felt Gilda pull her into her arms. She closed her eyes, her muscles softened under the touch of Gilda’s hand on her arm. She curled her long body in Gilda’s lap like a child safe in her mother’s arms.
    She felt a sharpness at her neck and heard the soothing song. Gilda kissed her on the forehead and neck where the pain had been, catching her in a powerful undertow. She clung to Gilda, sinking deeper into a dream, barely hearing Gilda as she said, “Now you must drink.” She held the Girl’s head to her breast and in a quick gesture opened the skin of her chest. She pressed the Girl’s mouth to the red life that seeped from her.
    Soon the flow was a tide that left Gilda weak. She pulled the suckling girl away and closed the wound. Gilda sat with the Girl curled in her lap until the fire died. As the sun crept into the dark room she carried the Girl upstairs to the bedroom, where they slept the day through. Gilda awoke at dusk, the Girl still tight in her arms. She slipped from the bed and went downstairs to put a tub of water to boil. When she returned to finish dressing, the Girl watched her silently.
    â€œI’m not well,” the Girl said, feeling the gorge rising in her throat.
    â€œYes, you’ll be fine soon,” Gilda said, taking her into her arms and carrying her downstairs and outside. The evening air made the Girl tremble in her thin shirt. Gilda held the Girl’s head down over the dirt, then left her sitting alone on the back stairs. She returned with a wet cloth and wiped her mouth and face, then led her inside again. She helped her remove her clothes and lifted her into the large tub standing beside the kitchen table. Then she soaped, rinsed, and massaged the Girl into restfulness, drawing out the fear and pain with her strong, thin hands as she hummed the tune from the Girl’s childhood. She dressed her in a fresh gown, one of her own bordered with eyelet lace, smelling of lavender, then put her back to bed.
    â€œBird will return soon. You mustn’t be afraid. You will ask her to complete the circle. It is she who will make you our daughter. Will you remember that?”
    â€œYes,” the Girl said weakly.
    â€œYou must also remember, later, when time weighs on you like hard earthenware strapped to your back, it is for love that we do this.” Gilda’s eyes were fiery and unfocused. The power of them lulled the Girl into sleep, although she felt a pang of unease and hunger inside of her. Gilda’s lips again brushed her forehead. Then she slept without dreaming.
    She awoke abruptly to find Bird standing over her in darkness shadowed even further by a look of destructive anger, her eyes unblinking and dry.
    â€œWhen did she leave you?” Bird’s voice was tight with control although her hands shook as they clutched several crumpled sheets of paper.
    Gilda had said don’t be afraid and she wasn’t, only anxious to understand what would happen now. “It seems long ago, before dark. She wore her walking clothes and said you would complete the circle. I was to be sure and tell you that.”
    Bird stalked from the room. Downstairs she stood on the porch, turning east and west as if listening to thoughts on the wind. She ran to the west, through the field, and disappeared for three hours. Her clothes were full of brambles when she returned. She went to the cellar and climbed part way through the door. She could see the new sacks of fresh soil stacked beside the ones she and Gilda had